Marvel Imagines

Erik Killmonger - Tell Me Why

Warnings: Physical abuse, cursing angst, fluff

Notes: I haven't seen Black Panther since it came out in theaters, so some people may be out of character. Some plot points are changed
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The apartment grew colder every night. Partially because the heating bill wasn't paid, partially because of the tensions that left everyone in the home in different rooms. But the apartment also grew hotter with every second my parents screamed at each other.

Mom yelled about dad's drinking habit, how it was ruining the family. He called her a slut, selling her body. She reminded him that she was never unfaithful. She only danced, and she got enough to pay for food and clothes to replace the small one's I had.

I was hidden in the broom closet, waiting for it to stop.

Dad barreled towards me, flinging the door open.

"This is what you spend all your money on?" He screamed. He pulled me onto my feet by the tricep. I was already crying, but now it was worse. It was so much worse because I knew what was coming once I said it.

"Let go!"

His grip tightened, and the back of his free hand cracked against my cheek.

"Leave her out of this!" Mom screamed.

"I'm done arguing! Get out! I don't want to see either of you around here again!"

"Fuck you, Marcus!" Mom growled.

Dad left the room, stomping the whole way.

Mom fell on her knees and cried. If I wasn't doing the same, I would have tried to comfort her.

"I'm so sorry, baby. We'll get outta here. We'll have a better life. I promise."

Mom didn't lie. She never lied. We got out of the neighborhood, she met a nice guy, settled down, got married. She had two more kids, twin boys. I wasn't the family favourite. Needless to say. I was a reminder of my father, of Marcus Scott.

When I turned ten, and the twins were four, I met Erik Stevens. We became fast friends, as we lived across the hall from each other.

We walked to school together. We played basketball together. He was more interested in it than I was, despite both of us being good at it.

About two years after we met, I walked in on something I shouldn't have.

Mom sit in the hallway for yelling at her. I opened the door to Erik's apartment, but he wasn't there. His dad and uncle were, and so was another man I had never seen before. He wore a suit that looked like a cat, and its claws were embedded in N'Jobu's chest.

I must have made a noise because James and the man in the suit turned to face me. The man in the suit knelt to my level.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I stuttered a response.

"I'm not going to hurt you, (y/n). My name is King T'Chaka." He inspected my face, probably seeing the scar across my nose and the cut on my lip, perhaps even the bruise forming under my eye. "Who does this to you?"

"My... my step dad sometimes. Not a lot! He's better than my real dad!" I defended.

"Would you like to go where that will never happen to you again?" He asked. His voice was calming and gentle. I nodded.

That's how I became Wakandan.

Another fifteen years pass.

I haven't been hit, but every now and then, someone moves too quickly, and I panic. When I first came to Wakanda, T'Challa had a hard time remembering that I was jumpy when it came to that kind of thing, but he continued to get better and better.